


Desideratum

by Polly_Lynn



Category: Castle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She hears it at the strangest times. The echo of five words . . . . 'Tell me you need me'."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desideratum

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a one-shot set mid-season 4, covering ground between Cops and Robbers (4 x 07) and Till Death Do Us Part (4 x 11)

 

* * *

 

Desideratum — noun — de·sid·er·a·tum \di-ˌsi-də-ˈrä-təm\

something that is needed or wanted; something desired as essential

* * *

 

She hears it at the strangest times. The echo of five words. Not constantly. Not over and over. At least not since the day in the bank. Over and over then, of course. Over and over when she needed to focus on the situation. The all-too-calm voice on the other end of the phone. The gunshot.

Over and over when everything rocked beneath her feet and she opened the door of that shitty trailer to a silent world in chaos. People in uniforms, jumbled and indistinct as they ran here and there, open-mouthed and soundless. Stiff-sprayed men and women with make-up towels still tucked into their collars, sprinting away from news vans, microphones outstretched, shouting nothing, nothing, nothing. The entirety of the scene inaudible over the ringing in her skull.

_Then_ she heard it over and over.

But it's just now and then these days. The strangest times, like when he's said good night and he stops to hold a door or share a stupid joke with someone. When he's silent and intense for two minutes together and the nonsense he spouts in the end is truly inspired. When he surfs the radio dial in her car and finds something she wants to belt along to every time. She doesn't belt along. Not ever. But he finds it, every single time, and she hears it again. The echo of five words.

_Tell me you need me._

 

* * *

She wants to answer. She's wanted to answer from the very first. From that day in the bank and ever since.

_I do. Of course I need you._

But she doesn't answer.

Some days it's punishment. Self-flagellation. Penance for her panic in the moment.

_Excuse me?_

Some days it's more serious than that. Something deferred because she _can't_ need him. Not yet. Maybe not ever when she thinks of Alexis's face and realizes—sees for the first time—the toll taken by all the games they play.

Some days she thinks she'll never be allowed to need him. Because that day had nothing to do with her. Not at the outset, anyway. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He and Martha, but every other day he's by her side, and this is her _life._ It's not just about waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's not just settling the score for her mother and then happy ever after. She's a cop. She's not allowed to need _anyone_ like that. She never will be, and some days she knows that.

But she wants to answer anyway.

 

* * *

 

It goes on like that. The echo of five words every now and then and the fixed desire to answer. But they go on. Through haunted houses and Gates angling to get rid of him. She wants to tell everyone who'll listen then. She wants to climb on her desk and shout for the whole shift to hear. She needs him. Of course she needs him.

They go on through her birthday, when she wants to crawl under the covers and weep, because she's another year older and her mother still died for nothing. And she's getting better—she _is_ —but part of that is realizing that she'll always have died for nothing. That there _is_ no meaning to make of it. Part of it's owning the fact that that it was a senseless, brutal act, and she wants to _weep._

But they go on _,_ even through that. He has a silly, stupid present for her that makes her grin. Makes her choke up a little, because it's sweet. Thoughtful, and he coaxes her out for ice cream with a sparkler in it, and she _needs_ him, and she doesn't know why she can't just say it.

But she doesn't, and they go on. Through the days when she goes to pieces, and he's right to step back. He's right to ask Esposito to be the one to gather her up again. He's _right_ , but she wants more than ever to tell him that yes, there's space she needs sometimes and work yet to do on herself. _So_ much work.

But even so, it's a constant: _I do. Of course I need you._

 

* * *

The year wanes. The holidays come, and she's set to keep watch like she does every year. He comes to see her late in the day Christmas Eve, another gift bag dangling from his fingers and worry around his eyes. He hates seeing her like this, the bullpen thinning out by the minute until it's just a skeleton crew. He hates it, and she doesn't know how to tell him that it's ok. That she keeps watch, and if it's not meaning she's able to make of her own wrecked memories, it's something. Doing this, year after year, is something, and still she's glad to see him.

But she doesn't know how to tell him, and he wants to slip her into her coat and tuck her against his side. He wants to take her home with him. He _wants_ that, and it's naked on his face, but he has to go. She knows that he feels like he's down to hours with Alexis home, and she _tells_ him to go. She marches him to the elevator and he looks around at the cheap decorations. He looks up at the mistletoe he's not kissing her under, and it's too much.

"You're _not_ fine." He raises his hands, helplessly. "How can you be _fine?_ Here. Alone like this on Christmas?"

She wants to tell him badly then. A strange non sequitur, because there's nothing _immediate_ about it. Nothing at all _here_ and _now_ in the way she needs him, and it's not as if she's asking him to stay and keep watch with her. It's not as if she doesn't _have_ him—a part of him with her wherever she is—and somewhere along the way she's figured out that it doesn't matter if she's allowed to need him or not. That it's not about what she does and doesn't deserve. She wants to tell him all that, but she doesn't.

"Not alone, Castle," she says, and if startles her until she realizes it's a joke. That she's pointing back to her desk. To the probably-heart-stoppingly-expensive chocolate and the awful dancing Santa he's left her with. "Got company."

He smiles, then. A ready-made thing he keeps on hand lately, and she worries that he's taken it as a rebuke she didn't mean. He wishes her a Merry Christmas and steps into the elevator that comes just then, and he's gone. There's no calling him back however much she wants to.

 

* * *

 

She makes a vow after that. She'll tell him before the year is out. She'll tell him this one small thing and see where they are, but that's not how it happens. He's off to California. It's a week Alexis spends with Meredith, and he's flying out there with her, just to make himself scarce.

"I like to stay close," he says, looking down like he's embarrassed. Like there's history behind it, and even still, he knows it's absurd. Protecting his gown-up daughter from her own mother. Trying to. "It'll be fine." He shakes himself. "And even if it's not, Alexis can handle it. I know she doesn't . . ."—he struggles—"It's not as if she needs . . ."

"Maybe she does." Kate blushes hard. She hates the intrusion, though she means well. She doesn't mean to make it about her when he's struggling like this. But everything comes out that way as the last hours of the old year tick away. "Maybe she can handle it because she knows you'd be there in a second if she did."

"Thanks," he says almost shyly. He sounds surprised. Grateful for so little, and _she's_ embarrassed now.

"We'll miss you around here," she says quickly. Stumbling over it and busying her hands. Straightening things on her desk that don't need it. "I'll miss you."

_Thanks._ It's the mere suggestion of the word this time. His lips move, but there's no breath under it, but a tiny, warm smile, and she's glad she said that at least.

He has to go then. _Really_ has to go, and they're both shocked. Checking each other's watches because they can't quite believe their own.

"I have to . . ." He says helplessly. Not wanting to. Not wanting to at all, but she's marching him to the elevator again.

"You do have to." She gives him a shove through the doors, but he curls his fingers around the edge even though the car is full.

"Me too," he says. "I'll miss you."

He lets go. The doors meet, giving her just a glimpse of the private little wave he sends her way.

It's something, tells herself. Something, but not enough.

 

* * *

 

She's been steeling herself for the wedding—Kevin and Jenny's wedding—without even realizing it. Steeling herself for the day. An occasion intruding for the first time ever. She's been steeling herself for everything, but it's been so out-of-the-corner-of-her-eye that she hasn't the slightest idea where "everything" might begin or end.

She has a moment. There's no sense denying that. She's all the way to the church. She's gotten herself dressed and scrawled something sentimental on a card. Something she means with all her heart about family and joy. She's gotten a cab and she's there on the street in front of the church. Freezing in the January cold because she, of all people, couldn't decide on a coat to go with the dress she's not at all sure about, and there's a moment when she knows she can't do any of this.

But she picks up her feet. She pushes through the doors at the back of the church, and she smiles. She introduces herself to other people and they smile together, an army of people beaming and beside themselves with happiness for Kevin and Jenny. Fast friends for now, though melancholy creeps in and she wonders how likely it is any of them will ever meet again after today.

_Happy for them_ . . .

_So happy_ . . .

_Such a lovely . . ._

She hears herself saying the same things over and over, nodding and shaking hands and the smile sits easier on her each time. Melancholy goes, swept away by the magic of repetition. Magic in a day that's held only grief for her for so long. But everything sits easier and it all feels light and easy and right when she sees him. When she rushes over and he's her plus-one and she's his.

 

* * *

 

She's happy with her arm linked through his. With bright, beautiful music rising to fill the vaulted ceiling of the church. She's happy nudging him when his eyes shine a little, and she knows hers do, too. Happy that it's the two of them sharing a smile when Ryan's voice breaks and he stumbles over his vows.

The evening goes quickly. Too quickly, she thinks, and regret creeps a little ways in every time a dance they haven't shared ends and she turns to look for him. But he's already looking for her. Every time, he's looking for her already, and regret goes, too.

She's at ease. Absolutely even when it's the last song of the night and he holds out his hand to her like there's no question that the dance is his. There isn't, and her hand on his shoulder and his at her waist feels so entirely right that she almost answers then and there. She almost tips her head back and tells him, but she wants the moment for them alone.

She does, truly, but she knows herself. She knows the version of herself that's been too afraid and too guilty and too self-loathing to answer all this time. To just _tell_ him. So she tips her head back and reaches out for it. A moment for them alone.

"Headed right home after this?"

"Mmmmm."

It's not really an answer. He's a little lost in it. So is she. She's kicked off her heels for this precise reason. To tip her head back and stare up at him; to have him, just this once, staring down at her, and they're both a little lost.

"Home," he murmurs, like it's a pretty picture with her at the center. "I guess. I'll wait up to be sure Alexis kept mother out of trouble."

"Or you could come out." She says it boldly. Unblinking, though her heart suddenly hammers.

"Out?" His voice drops low. He looks her up and down, never-quite-hidden hunger rising fast to the surface.

"Out," she says again. Steady. Determined. "For a drink. Or coffee. Or . . . ice cream."

She smiles. Something between wicked and silly as she remembers her birthday. The over-the-top way he moaned over hot fudge. Flirting to make her laugh. Flirting because he likes her and loves her and needs her.

"Ice cream," he says. An echo, as if he knows just what she's been thinking. "Can there be sparklers?"

"Sparklers." She peers over his shoulder at Jenny and Kevin, swaying and radiant. "For Kevin and Jenny."

 

* * *

 

They end up going for a drink, though. Some place they wander into by silent, mutual agreement. Low light and a quiet booth in lieu of sparklers. Jazz standards on the piano, and they're both the good kind of weary from a long, joyful day.

They each nurse a drink, making lazy conversation about the wedding. About Kevin and Jenny and how eye-rollingly adorable they are. How lucky and how brave. Their words are half-tangled together. Half-tangled with lyrics and snatches of melody she sings or he sings. Melody they have to close their eyes to remember. To hum along with.

"Should get you home."

The words crowd her head. A buzz that has her eyes flicking open. She's leaning into him. Practically into him with his arm flung across the back of the booth and she wonders how long it's been like this. How long they might've passed for lovers to anyone looking on.

"Home."

It's not a pretty picture at all when she says it. She doesn't know how it's gotten away from her. She's not sure _what_ , exactly, it is that seems to have gotten away. But his smile is warm. His hands are warm as he slides from the booth and tugs her along with him.

"You're turning into a pumpkin," he says as he drops his jacket around her shoulders.

"You'll be cold," she says, tired now. Impatient with herself, because there's something. There's _something_ , but he's close and she can't remember. His hands trail over her shoulders. Through the ends of her hair and she can't keep a single thought in her head _._

"Cold." He pulls the jacket tight around her. Fixes her there. "No, I won't be."

 

* * *

 

It happens quietly. So quietly, and it's nothing like she pictured. She thinks one second that it's nothing like she pictured, and the next she can't imagine it any other way.

They get a cab. One cab, though it makes no kind of sense. He asks the driver to wait and walks her to the door. He waits for her to pull out her keys.

"Thanks for this," he says, head down like it's too earnest. Too sincere. Like she isn't brimming with exactly the same feeling. "For being my plus one."

"And you . . . for being mine."

He looks up, as startled as she is, because she didn't mean it to come out that way, but it's true. It's true.

"Always."

It's his cue. _Their_ cue, and she hates the word as much as she loves it, because he's turning to go. He's leaving and there's _something_ she's forgotten. An answer.

"Your jacket!"

She calls after him. Urgent. She loses her own hands in the cuffs of it. The fist around her keys gets stuck, and he has to help her. He's laughing. They're laughing, and she's so tired.

"Thank you for that, too," she says to keep him there. To keep him there while she thinks. Tries to remember. "I would have frozen."

"Never happen." He shrugs back into the coat, settling it on his shoulders and shooing her back toward the door. Toward a kind of light and warmth that's nothing like enough in the moment. "It's why you keep me around."

"No," she says sharply enough to make his eyes go wide. "I keep you . . ." She remembers. Suddenly remembers, and the moment is quieter than she ever imagined. "I _want_ you around, because I need you."

"Need." His eyes go wider still. Brighter and more alive. "Me?"

"You." She steps into him, siding her arms around his waist and it's warmer than anything. His arms around her, too. "Need you, Castle. Of course I do."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've always loved their phone conversation at the beginning of Cops & Robbers. The way she panics and in the next second is absolutely ready to tell him she does need him. And so, this. Thanks for reading.


End file.
